


Sympathy for the Devil

by comtessedebussy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, Blood, Bondage, Chains, Dubious Consent, Free Will, Historical Fantasy, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Minor Castiel/Dean Winchester, Painplay, Protective Dean Winchester, References to Torture, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comtessedebussy/pseuds/comtessedebussy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester, the younger son of a poor but noble family, is to be wed in a marriage of convenience to a prince of the royal family - a marriage that is the affirmation of an alliance and an honor for his family. Yet the prince Sam is married to is Lucifer himself, who once led a rebellion against his older brother, King Michael, and failed. The stories say that Lucifer,  an outcast prince imprisoned for his betrayal, is a savage and cruel man.  Needless to say, Sam soon discovers that nothing is ever as the stories say, least of all Lucifer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be posting this fic in chapters so I can include notes for each part of the story, though most of it is already finished. 
> 
> Please note that the 'explicit' rating if for Sam/Lucifer; though Dean and Cas are one of the relationships in the story, the main focus is on Samifer. There isn't (and there probably won't be) any Destiel porn.

 “That’s bullshit!” Dean protested.

John Winchester sighed.

“You can’t marry off Sam to some man he doesn’t know!” Dean yelled.

“Dean,” Sam said softly. “It is an honor to marry into the royal family. I will be happy with whatever prince I am given to.”

“Yeah?” Dean rounded on Sam. “You barely know most of them! What if you end up bossed around by some spoiled brat?”

“Dean, that is _enough,_ ” John thundered. “We have always served the royal family well, and we are being rewarded. They have already allied with us to save your mother in a war they did not need to fight. Mary is alive because of prince Castiel, and now they are honoring us with this marriage and affirming this alliance.”

 “Honoring? I don’t trust them. We _owe_ them _,_ for saving Mary. They’ve always been stuck-up. This is some ploy because they need something from us. Why else would they accept one of us in marriage?”

“Dean, please,” Sam piped up again from beside them. “You don’t have to mistrust everyone.”

Dean sighed. He was outnumbered, and Sam could be headstrong when he wanted to.

“Fine,” he muttered.

And that was how Castiel arrived at their castle.

“ _Castiel_?” Sam asked, watching him, escorted by his train (which was surprisingly small), from the window. “I’ve heard of Castiel. He is learned, kind, polite….and he saved mother.” Sam trailed off. Dean watched him get his hopes up and hoped desperately himself that it would turn out as well as it could. Still, the prince’s coming nagged at him.

“Why is he here?” he asked. “Shouldn’t they send an envoy go come get us? I thought marriages happened at court.”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. It didn’t seem to bother him. He led the way quickly down the steps to the reception hall, where John and Mary stood side by side to welcome the prince.

“My Lord Castiel,” John bowed deeply. “Welcome. You do us a great honor.” Beside him, Sam bowed as well, followed by Dean’s grudging and shorter bow. Castiel walked in like he owned the place, and the worst part was that he looked like he wasn’t even aware of the fact.

“Thank you, Lord Winchester. I bring you news of your son’s marriage.”

“News, your Grace?” John asked. Beside him, Sam shifted nervously from foot to foot.

“Yes. King Michael has decided that Sam Winchester is to be wed to Prince Lucifer.”

Dean stared at Castiel. Besides him, he heard Sam give a surprise intake of breath.

“Prince Lucifer, Your Grace?” John asked, as if he hadn’t heard. Dean watched Mary clutch at her husband’s hand in surprise.

“Yes. We believe him to be the most suitable for this marriage. We will, of course, escort Sam and ensure all the proper ceremonies occur as needed. How much time will you need to prepare to depart? We are, of course, in no hurry,” Castiel offered courteously.

Dean glared at the man in anger, though Castiel was facing away from him and doubtless didn’t notice. This man sauntered in here, like he owned the place, to give Sam away to _Lucifer,_ and looked like he was doing Sam a courtesy? Part of him wanted to stick his sword through the man, royal prince or no. He didn’t get to barter Sam away and look like he was doing them a service.

“Prince Lucifer has agreed to this marriage, then, _Your Grace?_ ” he asked.

Castiel turned to look at him, his blue eyes piercing. “He was quite easily convinced…Dean Winchester, I believe?”

Dean nodded.

“I give you my word, Dean, that your brother will be in good hands,” Castiel promised.

Dean attempted to glare while bowing politely.

…

Sam didn’t need to be Dean’s brother to tell that he was angry. He seethed and glared and, to remove any doubt as to his view of the entire matter, he kept angrily muttering “I can’t believe this.”

Sam and him had snuck out of the castle to pay a visit to the village tavern. It was hardly the place for two nobles, however poor they were, but Dean seemed to fit in here more than he should, and Sam enjoyed the excitement of this small rebellion. Besides, here they could talk, their conversation drowned out amid the noise, as they’d always snuck out to talk when the two brothers needed to converse.

“Dean, I’m sure all of the stories are exaggerated. Perhaps Lucifer will not be what we think he is. It is still an honor,” Sam attempted to persuade Dean gently.

“An honor? Sam, they’re marrying you off to an outcast! He’s barely considered a prince! This their way of pretending to thank us while shipping you off to God knows where!”

“Perhaps.” Sam looked down, watching the foam in his tankard of beer. “But I can hardly refuse at this point.”

“Yeah, I just want the best for you, Sammy.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Dean. I must give Lucifer a chance.”

“Lucifer?” Dean and Sam glanced up to see Jo, the tavern maid, prance over.

“Eavesdropping again?” Dean accused her playfully. She gave him a winning smile.

“It’s not often you hear a name like Lucifer. Why’re you talking about him?”

Sam glanced at Dean. The marriage had not been announced yet, and it was hardly their place to reveal it to a tavern maid. Still, Jo was their friend. They’d grown up together.

Dean beckoned at her to sit down.

“What do you know about Lucifer?” he asked.

Jo shrugged. “What everyone knows, I suppose. Led a rebellion against his father and failed. They locked him up in that castle in the middle of nowhere afterwards. He’s still considered a prince. I’ve heard he’s still as haughty and cruel as he was when he was still back at court.”

Sam watched Dean’s jaw tighten as Jo continued talking happily. “They’ve locked him up in the Cage, and they say he’s as wild and savage as the sea and the cliffs where he’s imprisoned.”

“And what desperate failing poet told you that?” he asked, but Sam could tell that beyond the playful disbelief, he was worried.

“Thank you, Jo,” Sam said quietly.

“No problem. Why the sudden curiosity?” she asked, sidling closer to Dean.

“I can’t tell you yet, Jo. I expect you’ll hear soon enough.”

She pouted. “ _Dean,_ you can tell me,” she demanded, her smile sliding off her face to be replaced by an uncompromising expression.

“I wish I could, Jo. Kind of a state secret. I’m telling you, you’ll hear about it.”

“ _Fine.”_ She got up, picking up their empty beer tankards before prancing back to the bar. Sam looked after her. A man reached out to grab at her as she walked through the tavern, and she twisted his hand until he howled in pain without even looking down. Perhaps she wasn’t noble-born, but she had the luxury of refusing advances she didn’t desire.

They’d learned nothing new, of course; everything she’d said was common knowledge about Lucifer, but hearing her speak it so unknowingly, unaware of its sudden relevance to the Winchester brothers, drove doubt into Sam’s heart. What had he agreed to?

Still, perhaps stories were just that, stories. An exaggeration, born of boredom and beer in the crowded room of a tavern.

“Well?” Dean asked him, looking concerned. “Another beer? Drink up, Sammy, this might be your last chance to get wasted.”

Sam chuckled painfully. “that’s always been your specialty, Dean.”

They walked back to the castle in silence. Sam breathed in the night air deeply. He loved it here. He would miss their home. It was a small castle, but it had always been his home. Nestled among deep woods and sweeping highlands, it had always given him ample opportunity to wander with his thoughts or fool around with Dean. There would be no more of that now. He would no longer tackle his brother onto the lush green grass or climb trees with him; he would no longer sit by the fireplace in their vast library, reading books of law and history.

Before he knew it, they’d reached the castle, walking the dark hallways to their bedrooms. It was late and everyone was asleep. The drawbridge was lowered, though, as always, and they snuck in, Dean pulling a secret, spare key from his pocket. Sam watched him sadly, thinking that this was the last time he would sneak out with his brother in this way. There would be no sneaking away for revelry once he was married.

The next morning dawned cool and balmy. It was Sam’s favorite weather, somewhere between cool and hot, with the wind playing with the grass in the meadows. The sky was white rather than grey, shielding the sun without menacing with clouds. In the courtyard, John, Mary and Dean gathered to say their goodbyes.

“I’m so proud of you,” Mary whispered, kissing him on the forehead as she hugged him tightly. “I’ll miss you, Sam.”

John went next, giving his son a hug before clapping him on the shoulder. “Make us proud, son,” he ordered. “Good luck.”

A few of their close family friends had also gathered. Sir Singer, whom they’d lovingly called “Robert” all their lives, gave Sam a tight hug and whispered a gruff “Take care of yourself, boy.” It wasn’t like him to show emotion, but still Sam could tell that this parting was difficult for him. Lady Jessica was in the courtyard as well. The daughter of a poor count from several leagues away, she had had a dalliance or several with Sam when they were younger. Little had come of it, but they still remained close friends. “Goodbye, Sam,” she whispered, kissing him on the cheek lovingly.

Dean went last. He hugged his brother tightly. “Be careful, Sam,” he muttered, holding him close. “Write to me. I want to know that you’re safe.” He drew away, catching Castiel’s piercing gaze on him. The prince watched the two brothers say their goodbyes with something indescribable on his face.

“I’m ready, your Grace,” Sam told Castiel. The prince nodded, beckoning Sam into the saddle. He mounted his course, a grey mare, and watched as the servants piled his belongings onto a horse. Their guards were already mounted, waiting to escort their royal charges.

They rode out in silence. Sam found himself riding next to Castiel, surrounded by guards at the front and back. Castiel did not speak to him, and he dared not venture a word himself. Castiel struck him as being kind, especially for a prince, but still he dared not break the silence. At least not yet.

Instead, he listened to the guards behind him bantering, attempting to distract himself from the familiar countryside he was living.

 “Have you ever been to the Cage?” he heard one guard ask another and sat up straighter, all attention as he listened.

“Nah. Heard it’s quite a sight, though. Completely secluded, so that the Prince can’t escape.”

“I’ve never seen it either. I heard it has a torture chamber, though, and when Prince Lucifer gets bored he takes some unwilling soul there.”

Sam felt his breath catch. These men’s stories differed little from Jo’s. Perhaps the man he was being married off to was as cruel as the tales told. He glanced sideways at Castiel, attempting to fathom his reaction to the words, but he appeared not to be listening. Or perhaps he had heard these tales before and they did not bother him.

It was after a day of riding that Sam ventured to speak to Castiel.

“Your Grace,” he asked, hoping he wasn’t being too forward. “May I ask how far we have yet to ride?”

“Several days,” Castiel answered curtly, and Sam was too stunned to respond. _Days_? He had not known the kingdom even stretched that far, and he had spent many days poring over maps. He would be days from his family, then.

“If I may ask…Prince Lucifer is your brother?” he asked again, praying that Castiel would not think him too forward.

“He is, yes. We knew each other well, once…” Castiel trailed off, looking sad, and as curious as Sam was, he didn’t press.

They lodged at an inn on the way. Sam was surprised that Castiel would stoop to such lowly accommodation, but the prince did not seem to mind. It seemed that he shared none of his brother’s famed pride. Sam tossed in the narrow bed, remembering his room back in the Winchester castle and missing the familiar stars through his window.

Slowly, the settlements they passed through became more and more rare. Hills turned into mountains bordering the road on both sides, spotted here and there with a rare inn with few guests. There were no woods here, only endless expanses of grass cut off by mountains. When they finally arrived, Sam was ready to vow never to get into a saddle again. He was sore in places he didn’t know he had, and though he loved his horse, he was glad when she was led away to the stables. Dismounting, he gazed around him.

He could see why the fortress was called The Cage. Set on the edge of a steep cliff, it overlooked the sea on one side and was bordered by tall mountains on two more. The last side, with the entrance gate, was surrounded by a tall wall manned with guards, caging in the interior with no hope of escape, guarded as it was by men and the elements. There was a certain plain elegance to the way the dark stone flowed into the cliffside and surrounding mountains, but Sam couldn’t help thinking it looked barren as the land around it. This wild place, then, was where he would spend the rest of his days. 


	2. The Wedding

Guards and servants gathered about them as soon as they dismounted, bowing low and profusely and offering to escort them inside. Sam looked at their faces, strangely and completely impassive. They bowed with perfect grace and uttered their “My Prince” and “Your Grace” with the utmost precision. Like automatons, afraid to deviate from their prescribed orders, lest they be punished. Lest a royal prince punish them cruelly for disobedience, Sam thought.

He followed Castiel, who strode haughtily through the courtyard and the thick oak doors into the entrance Hall.

“Prince Lucifer,” one of the servants announced in a hushed whisper. Sam looked up the wide, sweeping staircase, strangely elegant and completely incongruous in this place of thick stone and roughened surfaces.

The man who strode down that staircase was a prince. That was the first thing Sam noticed. He walked with the same easy authority as Castiel, the same confidence that was such second nature to him that he seemed unaware of it. Imprisoned in a barren fortress, he seemed intent on making even this his court, as he descended the steps like a king preceded by heralds. Yet there was no flamboyance in his walk, and rather than haughtiness it was pride well deserved in his stride. He was elegant, too, as if he seemed intent on defying his surroundings as he had once rebelled against everything else. He was dressed in all white, his tunic and breeches cut elegantly from the most expensive of materials. He even wore a red rose pinned to his chest, as if he was attending a ball rather than imprisoned in the wilderness between sky and sea.

Sam realized he was holding his breath. He bowed low as Lucifer approached, holding the pose for several seconds before straightening up and lowering his eyes. He heard Lucifer’s footsteps on the flagstones as he came to face him and Castiel.

“Hello, brother,” he greeted Castiel, his voice ringing cold and clear in the silence of the hall.

“Lucifer,” he heard Castiel say with an attempt at similar coldness, but here, it seemed, he was outmatched. “I come with your promised groom and to be your witness for the ceremony.”

“Do you?” Lucifer laughed, a cold, unamused laugh. “Whatever did they say to convince you to ride all the way out here?”

“No one else agreed to it.”

“Ah.” Lucifer sounded utterly unsurprised and not the least bit perturbed by this insulting information. “Well, shall we? The man you summoned for the occasion is here already to conduct the ceremony, brother. Shall we _get it over with,_ then?”

Castiel nodded.

Lucifer turned to Sam, and Sam ventured to raise his eyes.

What he saw in Lucifer’s face surprised him. There was none of the condescension he had heard in his voice moments ago, and the coldness he had expected shared its place with curiosity.

“He’s beautiful,” Lucifer commented, running his eyes up and down. “I hope he’s equally satisfying in other ways.”

Castiel coughed uncomfortably. “I’m sure you will find him a willing and able husband, brother.”

 “Well, we’ll see, won’t we?” Turning on his heel, Lucifer led the way without looking back, forcing Castiel to follow. Sam ventured after him.

The fortress, as it turned out, had a small chapel, its windows and candelabras polished brightly in a way that suggested they did not receive this treatment often. He gazed around, thinking sadly that this was hardly how he imagined his wedding day. He had once thought of marrying Lady Jessica, before time made them realize that the two were not made to be wedded to each other. Their characters, as they had discovered, were simply too contrary, which had been a welcome attraction at first but later grew frustration. Yet perhaps Lady Jessica and he would have been more happily married than this abrupt wedding in the cold wilderness. Perhaps even with their differences, she would have offered him a better marriage than this haughty prince.

The minister stood waiting, dressed in robes of regal purple. He began speaking, but Sam ignored his words, something about duty and honor, and focused instead on the man he was to marry. Lucifer stood before him, looking as bored by the ceremony as he was. Castiel stood by Lucifer, his face as impassive as ever, and Sam dared not look into his blue eyes. Instead, he focused on examining Lucifer. He found the man had a handsome face, though he shouldn’t; his skin was an unattractive color, his hair a dirty blonde that should not be pleasing, and yet the man before him was handsome. There was a light in his eyes, undimmed by all his years in this wilderness, that seemed to bring color to his skin while his locks of dirty blonde fell around his face in a way that framed its graceful lines perfectly. There was elegance in his face just as in his dress, and Sam thought, superficial as it was, that at least the man he was marrying was beautiful. Though, he considered, that would not mean much if he was savage and cruel below the surface.

A question broke into his thoughts. “Sam Winchester, do you take the Prince Lucifer to be your wedded husband, and do you vow to remain loyal and do your duty by him, until death come to claim you?”

“I do,” Sam said. He hazarded a glance at Lucifer. His face remained impassive at this vow of duty pledged to him.

“Prince Lucifer, do you take Sam Winchester to be your wedded husband, to honor and to protect, until death claim you?”

Lucifer gave a slight smile as he said “I do.”

The man rounded on Castiel. “Prince Castiel, your word that you have witnessed before you a lawful ceremony between these two men, and that you acknowledge Prince Lucifer and Sam Winchester as wedded?”

“I give you my word,” Castiel said.

They signed a paper about the fact, too, some lengthy roll of parchment. Sam itched to read it, if only to find out about the legal technicalities of a marriage such as theirs, but Castiel whisked the paper away after they had added their signatures, assuring that he would transport it safely as proof that the ceremony had occurred.

“I believe it is customary at this point to have a celebratory meal,” Lucifer suggested. “Not that there’s much in the way of celebration here, but we must somehow welcome my new husband, must we not, brother?”

“I must depart, but I will leave you two to your…wedding night.” Castiel’s footsteps echoed in the tall hallway as he departed, leaving Sam alone with Lucifer.

It was only then that Lucifer spoke to him.

“Well, Sam. Will you join me for your first dinner together?” he asked.

“As you wish, my Lord.” In truth, he was not hungry, but he hardly dared refuse the prince.

 “Come,” Lucifer beckoned. He led the way to a lavishly decorated dining room, though its long table was as bare as much of the castle. The gay chandeliers looked out of place next to the barren walls, and only two places were set. Sam wondered who was responsible for the furnishings. They did not seem to match Lucifer’s taste. Lucifer took a chair at the head of the table, motioning for Sam to sit beside him.

Servants brought in the food, and Sam was surprised at its extravagance. A variety of animals, from duck and goose to venison, graced their table, with a variety of vegetables, sauces, and liberal flagons of wine. They were served on silver plates, with delicate silver knives and forks. Sam allowed helpings of various foods to be laid onto his plate, though he was too nervous to eat. Lucifer dismissed his servants with a silent wave of the hand. They bowed and disappeared in equal silence.

“So, Sam,” Lucifer began. “Tell me about yourself.” It sounded almost like a request, but Sam knew it was nothing other than an order.

“I don’t know where to begin, my Lord,” he admitted honestly. He looked down at his plate nervously. “What would be of interest to you?”

“Well, I must get to know my husband at least a bit, no? My dear brother condescended to tell me little more than that you were intelligent. And educated.”

Sam flushed deeply at the praise. “Your brother honors me, my Lord. It is true that I enjoy learning. We had a vast library back ho- at the Winchester castle, and I enjoyed law and history.”

 “A scholar, then?” Lucifer asked. Sam could even swear he sounded pleased.

 “I wanted to be a man of law, once. A judge perhaps, or a lawyer. It is an occupation few of my birth undertake, but I enjoyed the learning and…the possibility of helping people,” he confessed, looking up at Lucifer nervously. He doubted the prince would appreciate his altruistic and egalitarian sentiments, but Lucifer didn’t look too put off.

“You’re hopeful,” he said. “You want to do good in the world because you think it’s possible,” he suggested. He sounded bitter.

“I did,” Sam agreed. “Though it is obviously no longer possible,” he added sadly.

“No longer,” Lucifer agreed, and Sam had the sense he was speaking of something else. But it was not his place to press. He led the subject to other matters.

“I have an older brother,” he told Lucifer. “We grew up together. He was always at my side, over the years.” Then, suddenly remembering, he asked “I hope I may be allowed to write to him?”

“I know how dear a brother can be,” and again Sam sensed thoughts that Lucifer would not admit to as he spoke. Curiosity tugged at him, urging him to question, but he did not dare. Lucifer’s kindness still felt too precarious for him to dare. “Of course you may write to him, Sam. He can even visit, if he desires to ride all the way out to this glorious dwelling.” He swept his arm out in an ironic gesture.

Sam thought to himself that he was going to have to get used to irony.

To his surprise, the rest of the conversation was fairly amiable. Lucifer asked him for his favorite books, and he admitted to consuming fiction as well as dry historical texts. He addressed his new husband as “My Lord” and veered away from overly radical opinions on the works in question, and Lucifer seemed pleased. He still did not feel at ease, but at least he had stopped fearing an unexpected, thoughtless cruelty at every turn.

When they were done with the wedding feast, as Sam supposed it must be called, Lucifer rang a delicate silver bell. Servants appeared almost instantly, gathering their dishes in complete silence. Sam rose nervously.

“I shall go prepare myself for the wedding night, my Lord,” he offered.

Lucifer acquiesced with a brief nod before walking off, leaving him at a loss as he watched his new husband walk away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's most of the exposition and character introductions done, then! The wedding night is next, followed by the exciting part of Lucifer and Sam actually developing a relationship.


	3. The Wedding Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obvious warning for dubious consent, of course.

Sam followed the servant up the wide staircase to what he supposed would be his room. Entering, he found himself pleasantly surprised. It was not so much a room as a lavish suite, its walls and floor made of the same harsh stone, but every care, it seemed, had been taken to make it comfortable. Sam wondered who had seen to these preparations. Had Lucifer ordered the ornate scarlet rug to cover the cold floor? Had he asked for an inviting fire to be kindled in the fireplace, near the two plush armchairs? Had he asked for the walls to be hung with tapestries, depicting historical and fantastical scenes, to keep the cold out? Or perhaps it had been Castiel, on his last visit, who had suggested that Lucifer’s husband deserved living quarters to befit his rank. Perhaps he had suggested the thick curtains at the windows and the bookshelf? The latter was mostly empty, filled with a few of the most obvious titles, and Sam longed to fill it with the few books he had dared to take from home.

Looking around some more, he wondered about the effort it had clearly required to move a large, curtained, four-poster bed into the chamber. It must’ve taken several servants to carry it up the slippery staircase. Its coverlet and pillows were of the same scarlet as the rug and curtains. Whoever had done the decorating seemed to have an affinity for the color of blood, Sam noted.

A doorway, covered with more curtains, led to what Sam could tell was the bathing chamber.

“My Lord will no doubt desire a bath before his wedding night?” the servant asked. Sam nodded absently, ignoring the flurry of servants bringing hot water and filling the wide bath. He was, admittedly, tired and dirty from days on the road, but that was not what was on his mind.

He had thought little of the wedding night until now. His mind had been occupied with thoughts of wondering about Lucifer’s character, the place he was going to, the formalities involved. He had known there would be a wedding night, of course, and he had a very good idea of exactly what that entailed, but he had not dwelled on it. Now, it seemed, was the time to do so.

Stripping off his clothes – and he realized now how dirty and simple they were compared to Lucifer’s garb, and how had the prince not even remarked upon it?- he sank into the warm, inviting water with a sigh of relief. He stretched out, allowing his sore muscles to be soothed by the water’s warmth. He dismissed the servant, sinking below the surface of the water for several seconds and reveling in it. Noting the jars of oils and soaps that had been set near the bathtub, he made use of them. He had no doubt they were there less for his pleasure and more to make him acceptable for when Lucifer came to his marriage bed. He washed himself carefully, making sure to rinse all the dirt, dust, and smell from every part of his body.

Rising from the bath, he dried himself off quickly and donned a simple blue robe that had been laid out for him before grabbing a jar of oil and lying on his bed. He made certain no servants were around and locked his door before turning his attention to the item in his hand.

He’d asked Dean for advice on this part, just as he’d asked his brother for advice on everything in his life. He knew that Dean was much more experienced than him. Though both of them had known the privilege of not saving themselves until marriage, it was Dean rather than he who seemed to have tried everything.

He lay on the bed to follow Dean’s advice, slicking his fingers in oil and pushing one inside himself. It was not what he expected. It didn’t hurt, nor did it feel good. He had at least expected to feel something rather than nothing. A second finger was just on the edge of hurting, and he worked himself open slowly. By the time he added a third finger, sliding each one in as deep as it would go, he was expecting to feel _something,_ but other than a slight pain at stretching a part of his body in unfamiliar ways, there was nothing. Perhaps his body was not made to enjoy this, he thought. He had hoped this might be more pleasant, but he would simply have to endure.

The tentative knock at the door nearly made him jump out of his skin. Sitting up quickly and pulling his robe around him, he attempted to hide the small jar of oil before calling “come in!” nervously. The same servant appeared, bowing and asking if “My Lord is ready to obey the Prince’s summons.” Sam nodded. “Lead the way,” he ordered, and the man bowed low. Another thing he would have to accustom himself to. The complete subservience of the servants. How different it was from the easy familiarity of the servants in the Winchester household!

He followed the man through the torchlit hallways to another door, much like his own. The servant knocked, opened the door at Lucifer’s imperious “enter!” and made himself scarce. Nervously, he entered.

Lucifer sat in an armchair by a fireplace much like his own, his legs on a table and a book in his hand. He had changed from his beautiful vestments of white into a loose robe much resembling Sam’s. For convenience during the ensuing part of the night, Sam guessed.

“My Lord,” he greeted the prince, bowing. Lucifer rose gracefully, setting his book on the table. He walked over to Sam until they were only inches apart, and though Sam was much taller, it was Lucifer who towered unquestionably over him.

“Sam,” Lucifer said softly. “Come,” he gestured at his own bed, which was decorated in a similar shade of dark red. Undoing his robe, Sam let it slip to the floor before taking his place on the bed. This formality was how it had to be, he supposed. These were not moments of lovemaking stolen from the world in the woods behind the Winchester estate, where Sam had once taken Jessica. This was duty. It was different.

“You’re beautiful, Sam,” Lucifer said, and his voice held something almost like awe. “I am so glad it was you they gave to me.”

“I’m honored, my Lord,” Sam said. What else could he say?

Lucifer trailed his fingers over Sam’s skin. They felt cold, but not unpleasantly so. Cool, almost, on his strangely burning skin.

Shedding his own robe, Lucifer climbed onto the bed, ever graceful. His hand on Sam’s thigh was a gentle pressure. Sam spread his legs obediently and Lucifer settled between them.

“Sam,” he said again, softly, as his fingers trailed over Sam’s body. They were expert, it seemed, at finding those places that made Sam shiver with pleasure and gasp with the arousal beginning to flood through him. Lucifer was playing him as he would an instrument, his hands as delicate and experienced as if he had known Sam’s body for years, and yet this was an instrument he wielded for the first time. Yet he was nothing more than an instrument, being tuned and prepared before it was used. Lucifer’s face showed a casual interest, a shade of concentration, nothing more, as his fingers found a nipple and rubbed it between thumb and forefinger until it hardened. Sam let out a pleased moan, which made the corners of Lucifer’s mouth quirk up slightly. He sat back, admiring his handiwork in the form of the arousal evident everywhere on Sam’s body.

Finally, as Sam began to writhe on the sheets, longing for Lucifer’s touches, though, as he remembered, this man was almost a stranger to him, Lucifer seemed to decide to stop tantalizing him. Sam watched as he lifted a jar of something from a small table beside the bed, coating his fingers in oil. Before Sam could say anything, Lucifer proceeded to insert a finger, as gently and expertly as everything else he had done with his hands.

His brow furrowed in surprise at what he found there.

“Eager, Sam?” he asked.

“I wished to be prepared, my Lord,” Sam explained.

“I wouldn’t hurt you, Sam,” Lucifer told him, working several fingers in at the same time. They felt different, somehow. Where his own fingers had done nothing but prepare him for a strange intrusion, Lucifer’s fingers did… _things._ One of them pressed at something inside him, causing him to gasp in surprise and jerk up off the bed. Lucifer chuckled softly.

“They wed me to a virgin. Of course,” he muttered.

‘I’m not a virgin!” Sam protested before he realized what he was saying. “I’ve simply never – “ he trailed off.

“No? Don’t worry, Sam. I’ll make sure you enjoy your wedding night.” There was a slight mirth in his words, though Sam couldn’t fathom why. His finger pressed again at the spot inside him, and Lucifer seemed pleased by Sam’s reaction of surprise and pleasure. He withdrew his fingers, and before Sam knew it, it was Lucifer’s cock filling him where his fingers had been moments ago.

Sam opened his mouth in surprise as Lucifer started moving. He hit that _spot_ inside him with every thrust, and Sam watched Lucifer’s face carefully. . Yet the prince’s face was impassive, revealing none of the pleasure he had displayed minutes earlier, so Sam closed his eyes and offered his body up to Lucifer to do with as he would. The man above him continued to move, though there was no desperation in his thrusts, only control. It was only he, Sam, that was beginning to feel desperation and need as his own erection begged for attention. Opening his eyes again, he managed a “My Lord, please…” He had never needed that kind of permission before, but everything about this was different.

Without a blink or an effort, Lucifer took his erection in hand, beginning a series of expert, languid strokes. He brought Sam to climax as effortlessly as himself, and Sam spilled all over his stomach as he felt Lucifer fill him. He lay still, his body still savoring the brief moment of pleasure as he watched the prince in surprise. He had not expected this kind of attention.

Lucifer withdrew, rising from the bed with the same graceful motion with which he’d climbed on to it and donning his robe. Sam sat up, looking to his prince for direction. Was he not expected to spend the entire wedding night with his husband? The blissful feeling settling over his body was replaced by discomfort as the sense that this was nothing more than a transaction settled over him.

“My Lord?” he asked.

“You may sleep in your chamber if you desire. I will summon you whenever I want you.” With those words, Lucifer turned away, not sparing Sam another look. He picked up the book where he’d left it open on the table. Sam stared, then realized he was staring. Rising from the bed and throwing his own robe over himself, he left quickly.

In his own bedroom, he found himself strangely calm. He realized that he had expected to come back to his room in pain and nervousness and worry. He had not expected the strange calm that settled over him…nor Lucifer’s gentleness. Though, as he was coming to realize, Lucifer had not given many indications of being pleased. He had not seemed displeased, which was already important, and he had liked Sam’s body, but his cold, calm composure in _using_ (that was the word, Sam admitted to himself) Sam’s body made him wonder. Had he been required to do something else? Perhaps instead of lying down and submitting, he had been required to play a more active role in pleasing his lord? He had followed Lucifer’s orders, but nevertheless, perhaps he had been expected to kneel and use his mouth and his hands and do more than simply offer himself?

He vowed that he would ask what his prince wanted, as embarrassing and terrifying as he found that idea. He attempted it the next night, when Lucifer summoned him and he appeared, prepared as the last night to share his lord’s bed.

“My Lord,” he interrupted Lucifer’s familiar gesture towards the bed. “Is this all you desire of me?”

Lucifer, for once, looked confused.

“What else is there?” he asked, rendering Sam speechless. He had no doubt Lucifer knew what he actually meant.

“I mean, my Lord, do you wish me to…is there anything you desire me to do?”

Lucifer approached him, coming to stand mere inches before him. Sam looked down at him, feeling short yet again.

“No, I quite like you as you are, Sam.” Lucifer’s fingers trailed down his chest, parting his robe and slipping it to the floor. He took a moment to take in the sight of Sam, naked, and his mouth quirked up in a smile. “Come,” he ordered, and Sam obeyed, as he had the previous night. He lay himself on the bed, spreading his long limbs into an appealing pose. Lucifer seemed satisfied with it, for he stood for several seconds, gazing in satisfaction.

“I like you like this, Sam. You’re beautiful when you offer yourself to me like this,” he murmured. Climbing on the bed, he continued his praise, and Sam blinked, surprised to hear this man shower so many compliments on him. “I love the look of wonder and need on your face when I touch you. No one’s touched you before like me, have they?” he asked. Sam shook his head. Lucifer smiled contentedly.

“I think that tonight, at least, you came to me out of desire,” Lucifer suggested, his fingers ghosting over Sam’s skin.

Reluctantly, Sam nodded. It was true. He had been glad to hear the servant’s knock on his door tonight, and had had to put in a concerted effort not to smile when the man informed him that his prince desired him tonight. Sometimes it was good to feel desired, Sam told himself. To be given so much attention by a prince as proud as Lucifer.

Lucifer’s hands played over his skin with the same delicate grace, and Sam closed his eyes in surrender. He found himself longing for Lucifer’s lips to follow his hands. The prince’s lips were probably as expert as his hands, but he should not, Sam reminded himself, desire that. He was here to bring pleasure to his prince, not the other way around.

Lucifer never kissed him. Not this night, nor any of the next. Though his hands danced over Sam’s skin, touching all the right places, though he was always gentle and prepared Sam’s body before he used it, there were no kisses. It was strange, that a man as fiery and proud as Lucifer did this with so little passion. He heaped praise, soft words of Sam’s beauty, long descriptions of the flush in his cheeks and the arousal in his eyes, words all saturated with pleasure and satisfaction, but never any passion. He missed that. He would give all of Lucifer’s gentle attentions for a taste of his lips, a feel of the fire of passion. 


	4. Mere Words

They talked, however. Though sharing Lucifer’s bed was physically pleasing, it was their conversations that slowly forged a tie between them that their lovemaking could not. Sam often joined Lucifer on the ramparts on the seaward side of the Cage, walking between the two low walls. It had not made sense to make them higher, for what was there to escape to but the sea? Sam had looked down once and jumped back, seized by a sudden vertigo. The drop had to be almost a thousand feet, taller than any cliff he had ever known, with water breaking against the craggy rocks. He wondered what inhuman creatures had built this place, lodging it so precariously.

Lucifer had laughed softly when Sam drew back in horror from the sight. “That’s the choice they gave me, I suppose. Imprisonment or death. Ironic that they took my freedom, yet gave me a choice.”

Sam looked at him in horror. “A terrible choice.”

“And yet a choice.”

He found himself dwelling on those words in the ensuing days. How many times had the prince considered throwing himself into the sea and letting its rocky depths claim him, prince or no? It was a cold, terrible death that Lucifer had spoken of with such calm.

Choice. It was a word that Lucifer liked to dwell on, and Sam found himself thinking of it more and more. It had not crossed his mind much before his marriage, for so much of his life had been his own choices. The books he wanted to read, the career he wanted to pursue, the marriage with Jessica that he had chosen not to make happen. With his marriage to Lucifer, though, it seemed like his choices had melted away just as he began to realize the relevance of choice.

 

“Do you know why they married you to me, Sam?” Lucifer asked one day.

“An arrangement between our families. An alliance,” he answered carefully.

Lucifer shook his head.

 “That is not why they took your choice away from you, Sam. I’m told Castiel saved your mother from Azazel’s clutches, is that true? And then they told you this marriage was a reward for your honored service, but really it’s a payment for her life.”

“Payment? How is this payment?”

“To keep me in line, I suppose. To marry me off to a man I cannot cast aside without dishonoring my family further…and perhaps they thought a son of the Winchester family would be able to instill some loyalty in me.” He laughed coldly. “Well, Sam? What do you think of the royal family? Of the King?”

At a loss for words, Sam could only say “it is true that they saved my mother, and have always honored my family.”

“Only because it was convenient, Sam.”

Sam rose, and, standing up, he towered above Lucifer. Seeming to realize this, he remembered that it was not his place to tower above the prince and sat back down.

“You slander them unjustly. I am grateful for what they have done to my family. They live, happily at court, honored by the kingdom, and alive.”

“And you are a prisoner here, with me, in this savage place. You did not choose to marry me, Sam, did you? Tell me, do you like it here?”

Sam bowed his head. He could feel Lucifer’s smile though he didn’t see it.

…

They did not return to the subject for several weeks, though Sam could not help dwelling on it. Lucifer had a well-stocked library, and he found himself returning to his old habits of reading. He read history, and found himself wondering, more than ever, how the dusty historical figures could have acted differently to avert catastrophes. There was a minor history of Lucifer’s rebellion, too, a slim tome. Sam had been surprised that one even existed, for he had thought it was a rebellion the royal family wanted hushed up.

“Of course not,” Lucifer explained. “I failed, didn’t I? _King_ Michael was victorious. It is a convenient story.”

Sam wondered why Lucifer kept the book in his library, among his other histories and epics.

Reading it, though, he began to wonder. The book told of the rebellion in great detail – how Prince Lucifer, a younger son, had decided he had a better claim to the throne than the rightly-crowned older brother. How could anyone rise up against a rightful king, whose rule was fated by his very birth? Only a proud traitor, who had thought himself a better king in disregard for all the laws of God and man, who had thought that he could be king because he was the choice of those who were ruled. 

Sam slammed the book shut angrily. He hid it away between several thicker tomes of ancient history and attempted to forget, but the words gnawed at his thoughts. Several words danced before his eyes when he slept each night. _Rightful. Fated. Proud._ And then that final word that seemed to mock him every time he closed his eyes. _Choice._

It was only due to his stubbornness that he waited a whole week before broaching the subject with his husband. Lucifer did not seem angry when Sam brought up the doubtlessly painful topic.

“Is it true, what the book says?” he asked. It was the simplest question to ask, for he knew the answer already.

Lucifer shrugged.

“Technically. I rebelled against a king who had every right, I won’t lie. But tell me, Sam, was I wrong?”

Sam fell silent. A few weeks ago, he would have said an adamant _yes,_ but today he wondered. He approached the subject from another direction.

“Those who sided with you, they lie dead now because of your failure. How does it feel, my Lord, to be responsible for so many deaths?”

Lucifer shrugged.

“I did not force them, Sam. I gave them choice.”

“Was it a choice? Not a manipulation? Not a lie?” he asked, realizing that he was hoping as he awaited Lucifer’s answer.

“Michael is the one who used lies and illusions. He told his men they had a duty, and when they did not follow it he tortured and killed them for it until they feared him. I told them truths, and offered them choice, and they chose me. Each and every one, freely.”

He fell silent, leaving Sam the freedom to ask. When Sam offered no question, he continued.

“Do you know what happened to Lilith? She was my second in command. A woman, and yet what a knight! Strong and fierce and independent as any man. She chose me freely, and when I failed she stood by me. Michael took her and he tortured her. You’ve heard that this place has a torture chamber? He took her and he tore into her until even she screamed and then he killed her. And she was an example to all men who did not do their _duty._ I tortured no one. I killed no men but the ones I fought against. I simply used words, not fear, not duty, and my allies followed me.”

Sam gazed upon him in awe. Lucifer spoke with a fire that he had never seen before when they spoke. His eyes shone bright, and he himself was a beacon of light, shining as his name suggested. Sam could see why men followed him freely from nothing but his passionate words. It scared him more than he cared to admit.

…

“You never gave me a choice,” he pointed out quietly. He lay in bed next to Lucifer, a bed they had come to share often, though there were still no kisses and no passion exchanged between them.

“What?”

“When I was married to you,” Sam explained. “You expected me to obey, to do my duty.”

Lucifer smiled thinly.

“It was you who offered to prepare yourself for the wedding night,” he pointed out.

Sam stared at him. He propped himself up on an elbow for a better view of the prince and continued to stare.

“But – it was expected of me…” Sam trailed off.

“Because it was your duty? Who came up with the idea of making the marriage bed a place of duty, I wonder?” Lucifer asked.

It was all falling into place, suddenly, Lucifer’s care for Sam’s own pleasure, his emotionless satisfaction, his refusal to demand anything….

Sam kissed him.

He captured those lips he had spent so many weeks wishing for with his own, ignoring the thought that this was, perhaps, too forward of him. Lucifer responded in kind, placing a gentle hand on the back of Sam’s head to keep them together as he did so. There was that passion he longed for, which hid in every inch of Lucifer’s being beneath the cold surface. It was in the warmth of the mouth kissing him hungrily, in the hand fisted tightly in his hair, in the arm that brought their bodies together, skin against skin.

“Make love to me,” Sam whispered breathlessly.

Lucifer obliged – passionately. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's said that the Devil tricked Eve into eating the apple by telling her truths - or, at least, half truth. In any case, Lucifer's weapon is words, and I thought it particularly fitting that this was how he won Sam's heart. How many of his words are truths, or half truths, I will leave for the reader to decide.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is, basically, lots of porn. Warnings for D/S themes, bondage, whipping, painplay, and blood.

They made a game of it then, and laughed at all that it duped. Lucifer still summoned him, the same servant informing Sam that the prince desired him to do his duty that night. Sam had to hide a smile at the word every time, as he walked obediently to the prince’s chamber. “I’m here to do my duty, my Lord,” he’d say every time, wondering if sometimes the servants eavesdropped on his words to carry reports of his obedience all through the castle.

They carried on the game much farther too, some days, when Lucifer commanded and Sam obeyed. Whether Lucifer asked him to kneel or to lie still, he answered with a soft “yes, My Lord.” But nothing could mask Lucifer’s passion when he finally laid hands on Sam, showering him with kisses and gazing upon him in loving ecstasy. Sam would laugh, throwing his head back, as Lucifer’s lips touched him with fire.

 “Sam,” he whispered in wonder against his skin.

“My prince,” Sam exhaled the word. Pulling away, Lucifer looked down at him, a slight furrow creasing his forehead.

“Call me by my name,” he asked.

 “No, my prince,” Sam disagreed, and Lucifer laughed, soft and happy.

…

“My prince,” he ventured once, in the breaths between kisses, the words stolen in between the touches of Lucifer’s lips. “I have a question for you.”

“Anything, Sam,” Lucifer whispered absently.

“Does this fortress still have its torture chamber?”

Lucifer sat up abruptly. Sam blinked at the sudden change in his expression.

“Why do you ask?” he demanded.

“Well….” Sam trailed off, blushing slightly. “I simply thought..” he looked up to Lucifer’s eyes for encouragement but found none there. “I thought perhaps, if you wanted to try something more exciting….” He trailed off again, uncertain, hesitant. But a bright smile broke out on Lucifer’s face, his eyes sparkling.

 “You want me to tie you up?” he asked, genuinely surprised.

“I would guess chains are more likely than ropes, but yes. Don’t you want me utterly helpless and at your mercy, my prince?” his eyes danced with playful mirth as he asked.

“I do,” Lucifer agreed, “want you at my mercy.”

Rising gracefully, he rang a silver bell, one of the many, Sam had noticed, placed throughout the castle. “Hide,” he whispered to Sam, and Sam barely had time to place himself behind a thick curtain before a servant entered.

“I desire the keys to the torture chamber,” he informed the man, and Sam watched from his hiding place as Lucifer’s face broke out in a haughty smile at the man’s fear and confusion. “I have some…business there.”

“As you wish, my Lord.” The man bowed and scurried off, clearly terrified.

“I thought you said you’d never used the place before?” Sam asked.

“I haven’t. But as you well know, I have a – _reputation._ It’s quite enjoyable to take advantage of it sometimes.” He gestured for Sam to hide again as the man brought the keys, bowing particularly low this time and backing away as soon as he was dismissed.

Sam followed him down the wide staircase to the entrance hall, then down a series of darker, gloomier, narrower corridors leading to the bottom of a tower. The door had several locks, and Sam watched as Lucifer chose key after key until the heavy door opened, creaking on its hinges.

Sam’s mouth dropped open as he walked in. He’d never seen a torture chamber, and it was…well. Awe-inspiring. He’d read about some tortures, about the terrible machines that broke men’s limbs and destroyed their bodies, but there were none of those here. It was a room of delicate instruments. An array of knives, straight, curved, double edged, some of them almost as thin as a needle, lined the walls. There were needles and nails and other small, sharp objects, organized neatly in rows. There were chairs and beds covered, every inch of them, with sharp nails and other sharp edges. A row of whips hung on the wall, too, from the most innocent, a simple leather one, to a variety of cat-o-nine tails, some of them with sharp spikes at their ends. Sam winced at just the thought of what those things could do to the human body.

There were chains everywhere, hanging from the ceiling, attached to the walls, to the chairs and beds, and pairs of manacles lying neatly in a corner. Some manacles had spikes in neat rows on the inside, meant for digging painfully into skin. Collars of a similar nature lay by them. All of them meant to hurt as well as restrain.

He turned to see Lucifer watching him, a slightly amused expression at Sam’s terror.

“All of these have been used,” he informed Sam. “Some, on those that sided with me, some in times gone by, before I was born.”

“ _All of them?_ ” Sam’s voice broke as he asked. He was beginning to regret asking to come here.

“Yes.” Lucifer came to stand behind Sam, his hands gentle on the taller man’s shoulders. “Now are you sure you want to do this? Here?”

Sam turned, looking into Lucifer’s piercing eyes. “Yes. I trust you.”

“It’s about more than trust, Sam,” Lucifer reminded him gently. “Are you sure you want to do this, _here_?”

Sam nodded. “Yes.”

“You surprise me sometimes, Sam. I never would’ve thought somebody would want this,” Lucifer remarked as Sam began to undress.

“You like me because I surprise you,” he pointed out.

“True,” Lucifer admitted.

He seemed quite familiar with this place, and Sam wondered how much time he had spent here, thinking or wondering. Perhaps – perhaps they’d made him watch, as they tore his loyal allies apart. Sam felt suddenly guilty. Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought Lucifer down here. He was about to ask, but Lucifer had busied himself with pulling a hanging chain down from the ceiling and testing the pair of manacles attached to it.

“Come,” he beckoned, when he was certain both were in functioning order. Sam offered his hands, watching as Lucifer closed a thick iron manacle around each one and attached them to a chain. Lucifer pulled on a string, somewhere, and Sam felt his hands raised above his head, stretching him out until he was standing on tip-toes. The ceiling was low enough that he could almost touch it. He tested the chain and manacles and found them, unsurprisingly, sturdy and heavy, weighed down with thick iron.

“Perfect,” Lucifer said, taking in the sight of Sam’s body, all six feet of it, helpless before him. He approached, raising himself up for a quick kiss before asking “What do you want me to do first, Sam?”

“Anything you wish, my prince.”  

“There are so many things I could do to you, Sam…” his voice was soft and gentle, as always. He never needed to raise it. “I need to know what you are prepared for, and what will be too much.”

Sam’s hazel eyes were wide, innocent, trusting, when Lucifer looked into them. “Anything,” he offered.

Lucifer circled him, trailing his hands over the shapely muscle and smooth skin. “Anything,” he whispered in awe, as if he couldn’t decide.  Sam craned his head, attempting to see what Lucifer would choose. Lucifer seemed undecided, or perhaps he was putting in a show as his hands swept over the array of knives and whips.

He saw out of the corner of his eye as the prince took a whip from the wall, a thin little thing, yet made of a firm leather that Sam knew would sting.

Lucifer trailed the leather softly over Sam’s skin, eliciting a shiver. Or perhaps it was cold down here.

“If you wish me to stop, you have only to say so.”

Sam’s eyes were bright with excitement as he waited. He’d never done anything like this before, but he longed for the loving touch of the whip, wielded by Lucifer.

It hissed through the air, wrapping about his body as a lover. It bit at him as a snake, coiling itself around his chest in a tight embrace. It forced the breath from him with each delicate kiss to his skin. Finally, it coaxed blood forth from below his skin. The force of each blow was not enough to knock him off his precarious balance, for Lucifer worked expertly with delicacy rather than force, wrapping thin ribbons of pain around his body. He had never felt such exquisite pain before.

“Sam…” Lucifer’s voice was heavy with arousal as he murmured the name.

“Do you like me like this, my prince?” he asked, though he knew the answer.

Lucifer trailed a finger through the blood beading on Sam’s skin. “I do,” he admitted, voice low and hoarse. He stood behind Sam, and Sam could feel his hardened cock pressing against him. As if he needed proof that his bound and bleeding body aroused the man behind him.  “I can’t believe how willing you are,” Lucifer whispered in his ear, as if he did not understand why.

“Please, my prince,” Sam begged him.

Lucifer pulled at the string, until the chain holding his hands above his head slackened. “Kneel,” he ordered, and when Sam sank to his knees the chains held his arms above his head, as before. The stone floor was cold and hard against his knees, cutting into his bones where they met the skin, but he ignored it. Looking up, he watched the prince through lidded eyes, his lips parted in offering and expectation.

Lucifer took what was offered. He approached, running a gentle hand through Sam’s brown locks before gently sliding into his mouth. He drew back in surprise as Lucifer touched the back of his throat, bringing tears to his eyes. He had never done this before, and Lucifer moved gently, his motions slow as he learned the limitations of the man kneeling before him. Sam looked at him with wide hazel eyes, begging for more, though his body resisted. “Use me, my prince,” he wanted to say, though his body resisted such use and his mouth was occupied.

Lucifer seemed to understand, though. He rocked his hips forward in slow, graceful movements, filling Sam’s mouth just to the brink of what he could [take]. Sam relaxed, allowing the prince to control him with a hand wrapped lightly in his hair. He gazed up at Lucifer’s face, watched the prince gaze down at him in awe.

When tightened a hand in his hair before he came, pulling away slightly but [still coming inside Sam’s mouth]. He swallowed obediently and saw with satisfaction that the action made Lucifer part his lips in pleased surprise.

Lucifer hurried to undo his chains as soon as he was done. He helped Sam to his feet. “Thank you, Sam,” he murmured, his eyes grateful. “I owe you an orgasm,” he added as he led Sam to his chamber and helped him onto the bed. Sam turned his head, watching as Lucifer collected some kind of ointment and bandages from a drawer in his desk. He sat down besides Sam, wiping each welt with a cool, wet cloth before spreading a soothing ointment.

“They’ll heal soon,” I promise, he said. Sam nodded. His back still stung in various places, but not badly now that the soothing ointment was on it, and he had no regrets about the experience.

“Now,” Lucifer said, helping him up. “I believe I owe you.”

Before Sam could protest, Lucifer – _Lucifer_ – sank to his knees before Sam.

“What?” he asked innocently, looking up at Sam with a mischievous expression. Sam closed his mouth and let Lucifer do the talking. The prince’s lips heaped worship and praise on him wordlessly, and Sam repaid his eloquence with incoherent sounds from the depths of his throat. 


	6. A Short Interlude

“My prince.”

A few weeks after their first, though certainly not last, foray into the torture chamber, they sat together in a companionable silence. Sam’s back was already long healed, and he leaned contentedly into the back of his armchair as he perused a worn tome. Beside him, Lucifer was deep in a book of his own. They enjoyed this, being together and yet in their own worlds, each making discoveries in their own ways.

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever tried to escape?” Sam asked, and Lucifer knew immediately that Sam had definitely _not_ been concentrating on the dense text he’d just set aside.

“I’ve…considered it. But,” he pointed out matter-of-factly, “all my servants were personally chosen by my dear brother Michael. They believe quite adamantly in, ah, doing their duty. They wouldn’t let a hair of me out of this place.”

Sam sank back into thought. Lucifer watched him curiously.

“Would you like to escape?”

Lucifer raised his eyebrows. “You’re smart. Don’t ask stupid questions and tell me what you’re thinking.”

“The difference this time,” Sam pointed out, “is that I’m here. I’m not confined to this place like every single other person. I can flee…and thus help you flee.”

Lucifer set his own book aside, leaning forward and resting his hands on his knees.

“You wish to aid a prisoner of the crown to escape,” he summarized succinctly.

“And come with you when you flee,” Sam added.

Lucifer didn’t insult him by asking if he was sure. He didn’t ask if Sam had thought this through, or if he knew what it entailed.

“Tell me of your plan,” he said simply. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular chapter is all Dean/Cas (pre-slash), though they are here to move the plot along. Sam and Luci will be in the next chapter though, I promise.

Dean hated court.

He understood why they were here, of course. Now that Sam was married to Lucifer ( _Lucifer!_ ), their ties to the royal family were strengthened. They had to make an appearance, and bow and curtsy and offer “your highness” and “your grace” up to the dressed-up peacocks at court, and pretend to be thankful, and all those empty formalities made by hypocritical men.

Their very first appearance at court started off on a sour note, too. King Michael gathered the entirety of his family to greet them, and Dean hated every single one of them. Well, almost.

The King himself wasn’t too bad. Strict and austere, he looked like he’d never smiled in his life, but he was not haughty or condescending. He welcomed them, lauding the alliance between their families loudly. Dean and John had bowed while Mary curtsied, pleased. The king had even condescended to rise from his throne to shake John’s hand.

His brothers, though, that was another thing. They stood, flanking the throne on each side, the expressions on their faces suggesting that they were both seeing and smelling something tasteless. Dean could have sworn Uriel wrinkled his nose, while Raphael looked down his nose at them. Anna, the princess and only sister of the king, looked uninterested. It was only Castiel’s gaze that seemed almost kind as he watched Dean. He had even nodded in acknowledgement when Dean walked in. Compared to his brothers, Dean realized, his haughty confidence faded away to almost nothing.

Their reception was followed by a feast, and Dean was having a hard time deciding which he hated more.

The hall was more lavish than anything he had ever seen, all mirrors and chandeliers, and he hated every piece of it. The food was piled on silver platters while wine filled crystal glasses, and he wanted to smash them all against the wall. They sat his family among the royal princes, who pointedly refused to talk to John and Mary. Dean watched as his father’s jaw tightened while he took in the circumstances, growing visibly angrier. Mary placed a calming hand on his shoulder, but he ignored it, and she herself looked worried. He tore his eyes away, looking around. Every prince was deep in conversation with another royal sibling, and there were just _so many_ of them, all ignoring the Winchesters.

Glancing to his side, he found that they had sat Castiel next to him. The fact cheered him up slightly, though Castiel had hardly done anything besides not being as big an ass as the rest of his family. He turned to face his food, adamantly ignoring the prince next to him.

When it came time to eat, he piled his plate high. Better that he eat as much as he can, since he had no doubt the leftovers would be wasted anyway. Digging in, he took a bite of something meat-like covered in red sauce, only to cough and sputter as it burned. He grabbed his glass of wine, chugging the entire thing to calm the burning in his throat. Everyone roared with laughter.

“The sauce is made from spices imported from the far shores of the kingdom,” Castiel suggested. “It helps if you consume it with water rather than wine.” Dean realized he was the only one of the princes who was not chuckling at the fiasco.

“Ah. Well, thank you…my prince,” he said, surprisingly grateful.

Castiel gave him a small smile.

“If I may suggest…the stuffed goose is simply exquisite, and has significantly less…flair…to it,” he suggested.

Dean blinked in surprise at the recommendation before attempting to reach at a platter. Uriel glared at him while a servant scurried over quickly to cut him a generous helping. Castiel appeared not to notice his mistake.

The rest of the meal passed much more pleasantly now that he had Castiel at his side, giving him suggestions of the dishes to try and avoid. He seemed equally bored with the whole endeavor, Dean realized, and spoke very little to the brother seated on his other side.

Dinner was followed by dancing. Normally Dean would be all for this idea; they’d had some balls at the Winchester estate, full of gay music. They’d always invited Ellen and Jo to those dances, as well as Lady Jessica, and some of the servants from their household. Later, when the music was over, Dean had almost always had a companion to share his bed.

Here, though, it was completely different. Rather than lively music there were slow waltzes, performed with terrible precision by the dancers. No one laughed as they swirled around, their backs ramrod-straight and their faces stony. He glanced around, his eyes settling on red-headed princess Anna and thinking to invite her to a dance. Raphael, however, had found the chance to appear next to him silently, and, following his gaze, he hissed in his ear. “Don’t even think about it.” Before Dean could even think to reply, he walked away, joining Michael and Gabriel in talking. John invited Mary to dance and he watched his parents twirl around. They were the one happy couple, at least.

Dean leaned against a windowsill, arms folded. He tapped his foot impatiently, praying that the ball wouldn’t last long. Across the hall, he spotted Castiel, standing equally awkwardly by another window, looking frustrated and bored. He seemed to have no interest in the dancing or the company. If he were not one of _them,_ the princes, Dean might have even gone to talk to him, but as it was, he thought it safer to keep to himself.

He gave it another hour before sneaking away. The king was distracted by several of his brothers, while his parents continued to dance and chat happily. The other princes weren’t paying him much attention, and it was only Castiel’s eyes that followed him as he snuck away. But the prince said nothing and made no sign that he saw Dean leave.

Sneaking out of the palace was much easier than he’d expected. The guards seemed little concerned with who was going out, and much more occupied with who was going in, and soon he was strolling through the streets. Having walked several blocks, he heard the sounds of revelry and was reminded fondly of Ellen and Jo back at the _Roadhouse_ near the Winchester estate. He’d make do with the offerings here, though.

Picking a tavern at random, he entered. It was, as usual, crowded, noisy, and hot. Most of the patrons ignored him, but several revelers looked up at the clearly well-dressed man with a _sword_ who’d walked in here. The man serving drinks, a broad-shouldered man missing several teeth, raised his eyebrows as Dean slapped a coin on the bar and demanded a beer.

“What’s a lordling doing here? The likes of you ain’t welcome here, _my lord,_ ” he heard a voice behind him. It was good that he was facing away, since it took him several seconds to hide his contented smile. He took a gulp of beer, turning around and plastering a smirk on his face instead.

“Really? Because I rather _like_ it here. Even without your _welcome._ ”

The banter was pointless, of course; it didn’t really matter what he said. As long as he continued being rude, he’d get what he wanted. Behind the bar, he heard the bartender mutter _“Gordon_ ” warningly, but the man before him ignored it.

“Oh ho!” The man – Gordon - laughed. Several of the patrons were looking up, and the man insulting Dean was joined by two of his buddies. “Are you going to skewer us with your pigsticker of a sword, lordling?”

Dean took off his sword and pretended to examine it thoughtfully. “I could,” he said. Then he laid it aside. “But I don’t need it to deal with the likes of you.”

He saw the man’s swing coming for him partly because there was no other way to follow up his words. He ducked, backing up. It was three on one, but they didn’t know that a _lordling_ like him could play dirty. He swung at one, landing a punch that stunned the first of the men while breaking a beer tankard over the head of the second. His quick actions seemed to surprise them. All three backed away carefully as they rallied their forces before coming at him together. There was no way to avoid all the blows, and soon enough he felt blood on his face as at least some fists collided with him. He gave as good as he got, though, throwing several punches before his bloody knuckles began to protest. He got away eventually, kicking and breaking several more tankards of beer, but not before he had an entirely laudable collection of bruises and cuts and three unconscious men at his feet.

He dusted off his hands, drank the rest of his beer, threw some money at the bartender to pay for the damage, and left to the cheers of the crowd, making sure to grab his sword on his way out.

He was feeling a lot better now.

He marched back to the palace, wiping some of the blood on his sleeve. He was quite a sight, he knew, and if he encountered any of the bratty princes that the palace was full of, he’d doubtless never hear the end of it, but for once, he didn’t care. The fight had taken the anger and resentment out of him, leaving nothing but thoughts of Sam. Those he couldn’t stifle quite as successfully, and he spent the walk back thinking of his brother, off in the wilderness somewhere. Was his younger brother truly exiled forever to some bleak fortress so that he could be looked down upon by these princely brats? It wasn’t _fair._

He was so lost in his resentment that he hardly realized he’d reached the palace again. The guards, several of them, who had been lounging lazily seconds ago, were on him in an instant.

“And who are you?” one of them demanded, taking in his bleeding face and disheveled look. “Some lordling? You won’t get any pity here,” he informed Dean.

“You know, I heard that if you stick the pointy end of that thing in someone, it works really well,” a second piped up. 

“I’m aware of that,” Dean snapped. “I’m visiting here, now let me through,” he demanded, though he was quickly realizing it wasn’t going to happen.

“Oho!” One of the guards whistled, while another chuckled. “Let you through? Don’t think so, lad. Go find somewhere else to spin your lies.”

Dean was just about to argue some more, or maybe even take an ill-thought-through swing at them, when he heard a voice from the dark, cold and commanding.

“Let him through.” Following the gaze of the guards, he turned to see Castiel standing in the courtyard. “My prince!” the guards scrambled to bow. Dean remained standing.

“I’ve given you a command, now follow it,” he ordered, and the men stepped aside to let him pass. When he reached Castiel, the prince said nothing of his appearance, though his eyes raked up and down Dean’s body, assessing coolly.

“Come,” he said, walking beside Dean.

“I can find my chambers myself,” he protested.

“I know. I simply wished to speak to you. I will send a medic to tend to your injuries.”

Dean shrugged.

“It’s not necessary...prince,” he remembered the title this time. “These are minor.”

“Even so, you can hardly appear at court looking like you were run over by a horse. I will see that your injuries are tended to and heal quickly.”

“Thank you, my prince.” Dean found himself genuinely grateful to this man yet again.

“Of course. Oh, and Dean? There is another matter I wish to speak of as well.”

“I’m listening…my prince,” Dean remembered to add. Something about Castiel put him at ease, making him want to speak casually, and it was with an effort that he always had to add “my prince.”

Castiel waited until they reached Dean’s chambers before broaching the subject.

“I am aware that you are not…fond of court,” he began carefully. Dean looked down, abashed.

“I am not fond of it either,” Castiel continued. Dean glanced up quickly. “I have a proposal for you. If you’d like, we can go visit your brother. You miss him, I think, and would enjoy the trip, would you not?”

Dean nodded, feeling his heart beat faster at the idea. “I would love that. I don’t understand why you wish to accompany me, though, prince.”

Castiel shrugged. “I wish to get away from here as well. Besides, Lucifer is my brother as well,” he pointed out.

“Oh.” Dean hadn’t thought of that. “When can we leave?” he asked, omitting the “my prince” in his excitement. Castiel did not seem to mind.

“In a couple of days, perhaps? I shall speak to Michael. Good night, Dean.”

Dean slept well for the first time in weeks that night. Either exhausted from his fight or bolstered by thoughts of seeing Sam, he sank into a sweet slumber.

The morning, of course, brought Hell. John yelled at him, as was utterly predictable. “What the Hell do you think you were doing?” and “How are you going to present yourself at court looking like that?” and the like. Mary attempted to quiet him, though he disregarded her. She only looked at Dean in disappointment, and that was worse than his father’s yelling.

Thankfully, though, they didn’t protest when Dean broached the subject of going to see Sam. “I think it’ll be good for you,” Mary suggested, and though John seemed reluctant, he agreed. King Michael nothing against the idea either, and so before the end of the week, Dean and Castiel set out.

Dean had expected to be accompanied by at least several guards, valets, a royal train, but he found that it was only him and Castiel. “What if we get attacked? You’d probably make a really good ransom,” Dean asked.

Castiel shrugged. “It’s unlikely, and I dislike being encumbered by too many people.”

He was starting to seem less and less princely by the minute. Dean liked that.

The ride was long, and they stopped at inns on the way, spending nights in whatever lodgings were available and eating tavern food. Castiel seemed to enjoy it much more than palace feasts, and Dean had to agree. There was nothing to rival some good simple meat and bread.

Castiel was talkative, too, once they’d ridden for several days, though many of his favorite subjects were dusty history. Dean shrugged them off and chattered about his childhood with Sam, and Castiel didn’t seem to mind. He also informed Dean that he should be addressed as “Castiel,” evidently fed up with Dean’s attempts to remember to add “my prince” at the end of each sentence. Dean sighed in relief.

Once, Dean even had the courage to broach the subject of Lucifer. They were enjoying a particularly companionable meal in a tavern, drinking large tankards of beer. The prince seemed relaxed, so Dean ventured to ask “what is it like, between you and Lucifer?”

Castiel looked suddenly sad.

“We were – are- brothers, but…” he looked at a loss for words. “We were close. He was older than me, yet he looked after me, in my childhood, and we enjoyed each other’s company. But then he took up arms against Michael and I had to do my duty and stand by the rightful king.”

“So you stood by Michael, though Lucifer was your brother?”

“Michael was my brother as well,” Castiel pointed out. After a sigh and a silence, he added “I loved Lucifer dearly. But you must understand, Dean, he was wrong. I had to do what was right, though I am sorry that we cannot be what we once were.”

Dean shook his head. “It’s just that, if it were Sam…well. I would’ve stood by him in a heartbeat, king or no king.”

Castiel didn’t respond. Thankfully, the awkward silence settling over them was broken by a tavern made coming over with more beer and a smile. Dean winked at her, placing an arm around her waist that she didn’t resist. Castiel raised his eyebrows, looking worried.

“What?” he demanded, seeing Castiel’s expression.

“Nothing. Simply…” he watched the girl walk away. “Not something I would have done.”

“Why? Tavern wenches not good enough for princes?” Dean asked sardonically.

“You misunderstand me, Dean,” Castiel said calmly. “I have simply never been interested in…tavern wenches or court ladies.”

“ _Never?_ ” Dean stared at him, stunned.

Castiel shrugged.

“Not really, no. For me, desire comes from love, and I have never had occasion to encounter that particular sentiment.”

“Well, aren’t you a profound philosopher,” Dean said to hide his loss for words.

Castiel gave him a small smile.

…

The next few days of the ride passed in amiable camaraderie. They alternated between talking and riding in silence, and Dean felt his spirits rise with each day. He was going to see Sam, and nothing could war with that thought, not even the bleak and barren countryside.

When they arrived at The Cage, though, Dean froze, his spirits sinking at the sight of the fortress. Grey and lonely and secluded, it reminded him that his younger brother was, essentially, forever in prison. He glanced at Castiel, whose knowingly glance suggested he understood exactly what Dean was thinking.

“It’s not quite so bad inside,” he offered, knowing it was little consolation. “And perhaps your brother and mine have become good companions.”

Dean kept his skeptical snort to himself.

When they entered, however, everything was hustle and bustle and movement and energy instead of the silence Dean had expected.

“Did I miss something?” he asked, glancing at Castiel only to freeze at the tight-lipped expression on Castiel’s face.

“Something’s wrong,” the prince said, dismounting quickly and glancing around. Now that Dean looked around the courtyard, he himself could see that all was not as it should be. Castiel beckoned the head of the guards and the man approached him, looking fearful.

“What’s going on?” Castiel demanded.

“Your Grace, I – I don’t quite know how to tell you,” the man began.

“Spit it out,” Dean demanded. The guard glanced nervously between him and Castiel, as if trying to decide which was likely to be more lenient.

“Prince Lucifer has – has escaped, my prince,” he explained.

“Escaped?” The word left Dean and Castiel’s lips at the same time.

The man nodded.

“It happened in the middle of the night. We don’t know how, he hasn’t left a trace. I swear we didn’t let him out, my prince.”

“And Sam?” Dean demanded.

The man looked at him confusedly. “Lord Winchester rode out today to visit his brother, as I was told.”

Dean stared at him.

“I’m his brother, and he certainly didn’t come to visit me, so where the Hell is he?” he demanded.

The man looked at Dean helplessly.

“It’s quite possibly that your brother aided the escape, Dean,” Castiel offered. Dean rounded on him.

“My _brother,_ ” he thundered, “is not a traitor to the crown, My _Prince._ ”

Castiel looked unabashed.

“He disappeared at the same time and under the same suspicious circumstances as my brother. It is a possibility we must consider,” he suggested calmly. The whole situation seemed to leave Castiel utterly unruffled.

“Fuck,” Dean swore. The guard looked horrified, glancing to see Castiel’s reaction to Dean’s profanity.

“We must get a message to Michael,” Castiel began. “He can order his guards to search the kingdom for the refugees, spread the news. If we act quickly they can still be found – “

“Castiel,” Dean interrupted. He gestured to the guard, who bowed and scurried away, relieved. “If we tell Michael, Sam will be branded a traitor. Forever. If they’re found …” he trailed off, looking horrified. Castiel did not contradict him, which made Dean’s heart sink even more.

“Don’t tell Michael yet. Please. We can find them together and bring them back. No one has to know.”

“Dean, that would be treason – “

“He’s my brother, Castiel. Lucifer is your brother. Are you going to abandon him a second time? Please, Cas…Castiel. I beg you.”

Castiel sighed.

“Dean, I can’t.”

“Fine,” Dean snapped. “If that’s the case, I’m going looking for them, and I’m making sure that King Michael’s men never find either of them.” He mounted his horse, spurring his faithful Impala on as he galloped forth.

“Dean,” Castiel called after him. He ignored it, galloping onto the open road.

He’d hardly ridden a hundred meters when he heard the sound of hoof beats behind him. Turning, he saw Castiel. He turned away pointedly.

“Dean,” Castiel called, catching up to him. “I will do as you ask.”

Dean pulled on the reins, slowing his horse to a trot.

“You will?” he asked, all of his anger suddenly gone.

“Yes. I have ordered the servants to keep this a secret. They must obey me, as the highest authority. I will help you find your brother and Lucifer, and I will ensure that Sam is not punished for his actions.”

“Thanks, Cas,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.

If Castiel noted the unorthodox way in which Dean suddenly addressed him, he didn’t remark upon it. Spurring on his horse, he galloped beside Dean. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, porn and plot. Not in that order.

“ _Sam,_ ” Lucifer breathed in relief as soon as Sam walked into the room. “You made it.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” he asked.

“So much could have gone wrong.”

Sam shrugged. “I’m here now.” He sat down on the only chair available in the shabby inn in which they’d chosen for their rendez-vous. He stretched his long limbs with relief, taking in his surroundings with a brief glance before focusing his gaze on Lucifer. “Shall we proceed as planned?

Lucifer shook his head. “I had an idea. A particularly clever one, if I say so myself.” He gave Sam a winning smile.

 “Oh?”

“Exchanging places. You can dress as a lord and I as your servant. They won’t be looking for that.”

 Sam raised his eyebrows. “ _You_ would stoop to that?”

“Normally, no,” Lucifer admitted. “I used to think such methods beneath me. But, for you, Sam, I don’t mind.”

“Really? For me?” Sam asked, fully aware that the conversation was supposed to be about escape plans, but he couldn’t help derailing it onto this much pleasanter topic of Lucifer’s devotion (what _that_ the word for it?) for him.

“Anything to ensure you reach safety with me, Sam.”

Sam would really have to get used to the way that Lucifer’s words, so softly spoken that they could almost get lost in the air, carried such weight with them.

…

They galloped as if Hell were at their heels until they reached the first settlement on the path from the Cage. Asking around, they found no trace of Lucifer. One tavern keeper, however, did admit to having seen a man answering to Sam’s description passing through.

 “We should split up,” Castiel suggested as they discussed their further plans while their horses were being seen to. “I take the landward route and you the one towards the sea. One or the other of us will find them, particularly if they’ve chosen to rendez-vous and flee together.

Dean shook his head. “No. There’s only two of us. That’s not enough to cover all the possibilities. Even if they’re travelling together,” Dean added, grudgingly admitting the possibility.

 “Lucifer is proud and arrogant,” Castiel insisted. “He will flee, but he will not stoop to hiding who and what he is. That should make him easy enough to find if we take the two most obvious routes.

 “Perhaps. But if – and I repeat, if – we’re so certain they’re together, we’ll need both of us to bring them back.”

 “True,” Castiel conceded. “Well, if we were to…outthink them, then?”

“I know Sam,” Dean said. “We grew up together. I know how he thinks. He wouldn’t take the risky chance of going where they could be seen. They’d take the seaward route, go take a ship and sail to a far-off land.” He looked suddenly sad at the thought of Sam sailing away forever.

 “Towards sea we ride, then,” Castiel agreed.

They rode. They asked. After a couple dozen leagues, the owner of an inn confessed to having lodged a tall man and a shorter one. Who were so like Sam and Lucifer and yet not at all.

“First one was way tall, more than six feet,” the man told them. “Dressed really well, too, expensive silk and sword.”

“And the shorter man?” Castiel asked.

“About your height. Nothing notable about him, he looked like a servant. Dressed all plain and all.”

Dean and Castiel shared a glance.

“It can’t be them. Lucifer wouldn’t dress like that,” Castiel commented.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Not even to escape? He can’t be _that_ proud, Cas.”

“He can,” Castiel interjected. “He would never stoop so low.”

Dean rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Well,” he pointed out after a few seconds of thought. “The Sam I know would also never _commit treason,_ and yet we seem to have agreed that he has. Besides, how many men of Sam’s height do you think came through here?”

Castiel shrugged. “I suppose this is the best lead we have,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Good. Then we ride at sunrise. I only need a few hours of sleep.”

…

Lucifer barely had a chance to lock the door before Sam slammed him against it.

“ _Finally,_ ” Sam breathed, kissing Lucifer, his lips desperate, demanding.  They hadn’t had each other alone like this for several days. Forced to masquerade as master and servant, they had been unable to share a room at the last few inns, and Lucifer had been forced to sleep downstairs with the servants while Sam had taken the last room at the in. This inn, finally, had a room for both of them, allowing them much-missed privacy.

He kissed Lucifer again, just to be sure the man was really before him, before breaking away.  “I need you, _now,_ ” he begged. “Please –“

 “You are my lord and I your servant, Sam,” Lucifer reminded him.

“That’s the charade, yes, but we don’t have to pretend here – “

 “I’m not pretending,” Lucifer cut him off, and Sam’s eyes widened in surprise.  “How do you want me, Sam?” Lucifer asked, less curt but equally insistent.

“As you had me that the first time,” he finally managed to say. “Obedient and yet so, so willing.”

 “As you wish, my _lord._ ” Lucifer placed an intonation on the last word, and try as he might, Sam simply could not hear any irony in it. He vowed he would discover all the things Lucifer will allow to be done to him.

“Lie on the bed for me,” he asked as Lucifer undressed.

The prince obeyed.

The inn bed was small, much smaller than the large beds back at their castle, almost too big to fit Sam’s lanky body and Lucifer’s shorter one. But they did not miss the comforts of their prison. They liked to be here, together, as they were. Sam spread him on the bed and worked him open. His fingers were less expert than the prince’s had been as he readied the willing body entrusted to his care, but Lucifer did not seem to mind. He watched through lidded eyes at Sam’s hands made him ready to be used; those very same eyes filled with surprise and joy as Sam filled him.

 “A virgin too, no doubt?” Sam asked, and Lucifer nodded. “As you were, Sam,” he acquiesced.

“I shall be gentle with you, my prince,” Sam told him.

True to his word, he was gentle, but made love with a fiery, consuming passion.

“Please, my Lord,” Lucifer murmured, in an echo of words spoken so long ago by Sam. But Sam was a crueler lord than Lucifer had been, for no hand of his moved to bring relief to the prince below him.

“Shall I make you wait and suffer, my prince?” he asked, rocking slowly, tantalizingly, into the body below him.

“As you wish.”

Those words seemed to break Sam out of his awed trance. His hand began its expert motions, until both reach climax.

And that was how prince Lucifer did his lord the honor of giving himself over completely. 


	9. Chapter 9

“Yeah, they’re here,” the pudgy inn owner admitted. They’d ridden more than a hundred leagues in the past several days, setting out at sunrise and racing after the sunset, only to hear those sweet, sweet words.

“They just arrived, in fact. Why? Who’re you?” the man demanded.

“My name,” said Castiel quietly, “is prince Castiel. Whether you believe that or not is irrelevant. You can tell us which room they are in willingly, or with a sword at your throat.” Dean stared at him. This cold, quiet, and effortlessly menacing side to Castiel was an utter surprise.

“Second room to the left of the stairs, my prince,” the man muttered hurriedly.

When they opened the door with a crash, Sam and Lucifer stood waiting for them with perfect calm.

“Sam,” Dean breathed. Ignoring everything else, from the royal fugitive before him to their surroundings, he threw his arms around his younger brother. Sam returned the hug wholeheartedly, pressing the brother he hadn’t seen in months close. “Dean,” he breathed back, almost relieved.

“I’m so glad we found you, Sammy. Nobody knows that you’ve fled yet. We can take you back, and I swear, no harm will come to you – “

“Dean,” Sam interrupted. “I won’t go back.”

“What?”

Sam glanced at Lucifer. “We want to be free,” he said. “Please, Dean, let us be free.”

“Sam , I – This? This is what you want? To leave forever? With – _him_? What’s he said to you to make you think he’s so special?” he demanded.

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know Dean. But I know that we cannot live in prison forever. Dean, please, let me go. Let me be free,” he begged.  

“Will you be happy, Sam?” Dean asked, something in his voice breaking.

“Yes.” Sam’s eyes were wide and candid. “Together we’ll be happy.”

Dean closed his eyes, processing this information. When he opened them again, his expression was determined. He turned to Castiel.

 “Cas- “ he began.

“I must do what is expected of me, Dean.” Castiel looked unhappy at the thought, but the steely glint in his eyes rebuffed argument. “They must come with me. I swear they can be safe.”

 “Cas. Let them go. _Please._ I beg you.” Out of the corner of his eye, he was distinctly aware of Lucifer watching him with interest as he pleaded for his freedom. The damn bastard, he was supposed to be the one good with words. Yet here, he seemed content, even _amused,_ as Dean begged on Sam’s behalf – and his.

“Dean, I cannot,” he gritted out, looking like the words were causing him physical pain. He was almost wincing as he said them.

Turning to Lucifer, he addressed his own brother for the first time.  “You must come with me, brother.” And for the first time in the entire conversation, Lucifer looked sad. “You don’t want to be free, brother?” he asked.

“You know I do, but I cannot let you go,” Castiel said.

“You were always the dutiful one.” Lucifer had marshaled his emotions to look calm and unsurprised, and the comment was almost a conversational one.

“Cas,” Dean interrupted. Cas turned to see him draw his sword. “Please. I don’t want to have to do this.”

Castiel shook his head. “I won’t fight you, Dean.”

“Then let Sam go. He’s my brother, Cas. I want him to be _free_.”

Castiel stared at him silently. It seemed to take him several seconds to process Dean’s words, and when he did, something in him seemed to break, crash, fall apart before Dean’s eyes. He turned to Lucifer, looking more uncertain than Dean have ever seen him.

“Be free, brother,” he said.

Something in Lucifer’s cold demeanor seemed to fall apart. Gone was the aloof interest with which he watched Sam plead with Dean. “Thank you, brother,” he said, his eyes shining with – something.

 “And to make it easier for you,” Sam broke into the heartfelt moment, drawing a dagger, “you can say that the prince held me hostage.” He handed the short blade to Lucifer, who had it held against Sam’s neck in a heartbeat.

Dean reached for his sword instinctively.

“It’s all right, Dean,” Sam calmed him as the blade danced against his skin. “He will do me no harm.”

 “It seems that this is how we must part, then,” Lucifer addressed his words to Castiel, utterly ignoring Dean. “Castiel, will you tell our dear brother the king that you saw me escape with your own eyes? You watched as I held a blade to Sam Winchester and forced my _husband_ to accompany me.”

“I will,” Castiel said solemnly. “Good bye, brother.”

With those succinct words, Castiel turned to leave. Dean took longer.

“Good-bye, Sam,” he said. “Be safe,” he added, his gaze lingering. He seemed unable to tear himself away.

“Good bye, Dean. And thank you.”

The next day, Sam and Lucifer sailed on a ship captained by a man named Benny, who looked as menacing as he was kind. Though a captain, he insisted on wearing a sailor’s cap and addressing the passengers as “darlin’” That was how he talked to Lucifer, and Sam had thought for a second that the prince would rebel against the appellation, but he took in in stride. The ship, a sleek, sturdy thing, sped them across the waves, led by Benny’s expert commands. Sam and Lucifer stood on the deck, watching their homeland fade away swiftly with a mixture of happiness and regret.

…

Dean played with his food, uninterested in the appetizing meal before him. He seemed utterly lost in thought, and across from him, Castiel was equally silent.

“What’s on your mind?” Castiel asked finally, after a painful quarter of an hour had trickled by without a word. They’d both given up on their food by this point, choosing instead to down large tankards of beer.

“Well, it’s just that…they married Sam to Lucifer to make an alliance. Now that they’re both gone – forever – what’s going to happen to our family?” Dean asked.

Castiel shrugged. “They will believe Sam was taken by Lucifer unwillingly. No dishonor will come to your family.”

“I know, Cas. But – still. There’s nothing tying my family to yours now and it’s going to be a mess to sort out. My mother is going to be so disappointed, too. She was so proud of this alliance.”

Castiel folded his fingers together and set them on the table. He looked like he was getting ready to negotiate.

“There is an offer I would make you, but I don’t wish your decision to be motivated by duty or guilt.”

Dean’s eyes flashed to Castiel’s face. “What proposal?” he asked quickly.

“I would offer you my own hand in marriage, but I don’t wish you to accept unless this was something you truly wanted.”

“You’d marry _me_?” he asked in surprise.

Castiel looked down. “Do you remember when we spoke of desire and how it is born of love?” When Dean nodded, he continued. “You make me feel both, Dean, for the first time in my life. If you were willing, there is nothing I would want better than to marry you.”

“I – “ Dean didn’t know what to say. He looked at Castiel speechlessly.

“Forget it,” Castiel said. “It was only a thought. You are under no obligation.”

“No, Cas, I – “ he broke off, giving up on words. Rising, he circled the table to straddle the bench Castiel sat on. The prince turned to face him.

“Cas, believe me, I want to. I want to marry _you._ But your family, well, they – “

“They could be convinced of the importance of continuing an alliance with your family,” Castiel interrupted. Dean looked relieved.

“Besides,” Castiel added, “this is my choice, and they cannot stop me from making it.”

Dean kissed him.

He’d heard that marrying a member of the royal family involved elaborate courting rituals when marriages were not arranged. He was almost completely certain that this kiss fell outside of all proper courting rituals, and he had absolutely no doubt that he and Castiel were probably supposed to wait until marriage.

He didn’t really give a damn, and from the way Castiel kissed, Dean thought he probably wasn’t too invested in that idea either.

They were married within the week. Unsurprisingly, Castiel’s brothers were displeased with the match, and few of them attended the wedding. Dean and Castiel thought the ceremony all the better for their absence. Only John and Mary stood by Dean’s side, giving their second son away to a prince as King Michael performed the ceremony and gave Castiel his blessing.

With Castiel, Dean decided he no longer despised court quite so much, though the two of them still shared their time between the royal palace and the Winchester estate. Sam’s absence still made Dean ache with longing for his brother, but Castiel was more than enough to fill the void. 


	10. Conclusion

“So. We’re free,” Sam said. After two weeks at sea, they’d finally stepped off the ship onto a foreign land. Taking in the vast land before them and the wide sea behind them, they truly breathed free air. “What now?”

It seemed strange, that they hadn’t discussed this part before. All of their planning had focused on escape, on being free…and so little on what they would do with being free.

“We buy a title, court or earl or whatever you desire to be, Sam,” Lucifer answered, as if he’d decided this question long ago. “We settle down, you the lord of a fine estate and I your lowborn and obedient husband. And then…well, we shall see what we do with the rest of our days.”

 “But …you’re my _prince,_ ” Sam insisted, forgetting, in this new land, that Lucifer had already obeyed him back in the kingdom where he was a royal prince.

“No, Sam. Here, we make our own choices of what we are. And here,” he said reverently, “I choose to obey you.  Would you like that, Sam?”

“I would,” Sam murmured.

He sealed his choice with a kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that! They all lived happily ever after, because I'm a complete sap.


End file.
